Tuesday, September 12, 2023

Day 255 - Lunch With the Devil

 Lunch With the Devil
Matthew Ryan Fischer
 
Of what little I can remember; it went something like a dream. I was there. No arrival. No introduction. I was just there in the middle of things. My meal was already half-eaten and I could taste the seasonings in my mouth, but couldn’t quite place what they were. The lettuce on the plate looked wet and slimy. Perhaps rancid. I had a stale taste of dust in my mouth. Sometimes stale bread made me feel that way. Or the flaked skin from sunflower seeds or something similar. It was not an appetizing feeling. But I wasn’t sure why I was at lunch anyway.
Lunch with the devil. A ridiculous theme at a ridiculous event. Rock-and-rollers from a different era, thirty years too late. I was a child, but I remember the leather pants and the overblown hair and makeup. Most of these men were old enough to be someone’s grandfather. They wouldn’t know what cosplay was, but this was basically a cosplay festival for boomers, jonesers and Xers. Except these people somehow thought glam rock and British punk was still edgy.
The girl was twenty-two, maybe. She had no business being in a place like this. Leather crop top that was too tight and pushed everything to the point of spilling out. Western cut pants, with matching books and chaps. Mile high hair, rock solid from too much hairspray. It was comical. A parody of a parody of something someone once saw in a Halloween costume shop.
She seemed serious, and I half expected five or six of her friends to show up in matching costumes, all as part of a sorority hazing event.
Were there still sororities at High Schools and Colleges? Had that gone out of fashion? I was told by many media sources that this generation was far more conservative and reserved than mine had been and that drinking and debauchery had gone out of style. I didn’t think that was possible, but what did I know? I was an old man now too, relying on information from an article so I could try to understand what was happening. I could ask the girl, but she was half my age and there was no way it wouldn’t come across as some sort of creepy move to hit on her.
I suddenly felt flushed and a little sick to my stomach. I was embarrassed and could feel my temperature rise, sure that all eyes were on me. The food was subpar and the music hadn’t begun, but I had to go. Having wasted my time, money, and stepped all over my pride, I walked across the room, a wounded duck, trying to avert my eyes and not make eye contact with anyone. The girl was somewhere, ahead or behind or to the side. I didn’t want to know.
Out in the hall, I stopped and looked for a bathroom. I wanted to dunk my head in a sink of water and run cold water all over the back of my head. That should stop the sweating. That should stop the panic and anxiety I was feeling.
The dispenser was out of paper towels and the air dryer was designed for hands to be stuck into a shaped receptacle. I tried to dry my forehead with my shirt sleeve, leaving my shirt looking like a wet mess.
I peaked out the door to make sure no one was in the lobby to see me in such a disheveled state.  Seemingly clear, I fled the building and ran to my car.  The day ruined; my mind stuck in a negative spiral. And I was never much of a fan of glam rock anyway. What a waste of time and energy.
I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to stop thinking of the girl.

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